Part 8
Soundtrack: Pink Floyd / A Saucer Full of Secrets
Back in Hell I fought every fight, I fought tumbling into an abyss, I battled the possibility of losing everything I thought I had created.
Here in the Hotel, being on the bottom rung seems almost, right.
Like a fresh sheet of A4 paper sliding effortlessly into a Remington Electric Typewriter.
Like death, because that's all death is, another blank fucking canvas.
It doesn't matter so much, what I write now. Just that I have shed my old ego entity, and am ready to begin the first sentence of a new book.
********
After I finished cleaning under the Ice Machine, scrubbing the floor, laughing at oh-so beautiful karma I knocked off and poured myself a beer.
Archie sat beside me and said, we've never actually met, you're matty aren't you?
Yessir I am.
You have a reputation in this place.
Haha, yeah, no shit.
Tell me a story about yourself matty...
And I thought: Do I tell the one about the prostitute (s) the one about the stolen five thousand dollars the one about the murdered parent and the hitmen and the domestic violence and the three years in japan or the endless drugs and endless affairs the acid which made me god for a night the discovering more tolerance in myself than I thought I ever had - the threesomes the swingers the internet the two girlfriends the bands the heart ache the people talking out of turn behind my back and making things bigger than what they really are the furtive visits to sites unwanted the writing when there was nothing left to do but write because writing is better than crying and anyway all the tears are long gone but the writing still remains?
I said, I was the first person to throw up in this pub, the day they opened the door.
No wonder sometimes people aren't quite sure about me.
********
If you want to be proud, I offer this advice. Save it until last. Save it until you have achieved everything you wanted to achieve. I suffered from premature pride, falsely believing it to be Self Belief, which is a beautiful and wholey different thing. Pride just fucks with you if you're still on the way up, pride is just another word for ego, and who the fuck are you or I to carry ourselves with such arrogance?
I believe in myself. Again. I always did, but I draped it in pride and so for every step forward, my ego took me ten steps back.
I believe in myself, and I don't care if you see me scrubbing a floor or smashing a guitar on stage, I can be both those people, but what really counts in the end is how I treat myself and how I treat you.
I'm not there yet, I still feel the tickle of pride, of derision, [this is the instinct to flee in a different guise...trust me], but at least it's just a tickle from the tickle man. And the apprehensive anticipation of BEFORE the tickle, well that's fucking sexy.
See you round.
Back in Hell I fought every fight, I fought tumbling into an abyss, I battled the possibility of losing everything I thought I had created.
Here in the Hotel, being on the bottom rung seems almost, right.
Like a fresh sheet of A4 paper sliding effortlessly into a Remington Electric Typewriter.
Like death, because that's all death is, another blank fucking canvas.
It doesn't matter so much, what I write now. Just that I have shed my old ego entity, and am ready to begin the first sentence of a new book.
********
After I finished cleaning under the Ice Machine, scrubbing the floor, laughing at oh-so beautiful karma I knocked off and poured myself a beer.
Archie sat beside me and said, we've never actually met, you're matty aren't you?
Yessir I am.
You have a reputation in this place.
Haha, yeah, no shit.
Tell me a story about yourself matty...
And I thought: Do I tell the one about the prostitute (s) the one about the stolen five thousand dollars the one about the murdered parent and the hitmen and the domestic violence and the three years in japan or the endless drugs and endless affairs the acid which made me god for a night the discovering more tolerance in myself than I thought I ever had - the threesomes the swingers the internet the two girlfriends the bands the heart ache the people talking out of turn behind my back and making things bigger than what they really are the furtive visits to sites unwanted the writing when there was nothing left to do but write because writing is better than crying and anyway all the tears are long gone but the writing still remains?
I said, I was the first person to throw up in this pub, the day they opened the door.
No wonder sometimes people aren't quite sure about me.
********
If you want to be proud, I offer this advice. Save it until last. Save it until you have achieved everything you wanted to achieve. I suffered from premature pride, falsely believing it to be Self Belief, which is a beautiful and wholey different thing. Pride just fucks with you if you're still on the way up, pride is just another word for ego, and who the fuck are you or I to carry ourselves with such arrogance?
I believe in myself. Again. I always did, but I draped it in pride and so for every step forward, my ego took me ten steps back.
I believe in myself, and I don't care if you see me scrubbing a floor or smashing a guitar on stage, I can be both those people, but what really counts in the end is how I treat myself and how I treat you.
I'm not there yet, I still feel the tickle of pride, of derision, [this is the instinct to flee in a different guise...trust me], but at least it's just a tickle from the tickle man. And the apprehensive anticipation of BEFORE the tickle, well that's fucking sexy.
See you round.
posted by Sherriff at 5:11 PM
5 Comments:
how i treat people and how i treat myself. i want to say i do both well but i really don't. i need to learn better how to. what does it take to just get over yourself and make other people happy, even if it's not exactly what you want to do at that time, in that place?
i had the nike slogan written on my ceiling as a 17 year old girl, way before nike fucking stole it. i wrote it in black crayon, in big letters. my mum was ok with that, it was my "space." i'd lie on my top bunk and look at it.
did i just do it?
i don't know. maybe.
b
I work with this guy. Big six foot barman type. He wears an Ohm symbol around his neck and is always smiling. Originally I had him pegged as an Earthcore-Hippy until i just kept seeing everything wash straight over him.
He said to me, the reason I am so happy all the time is because if I am, then that is all I receive in return.
It's easy in humour to deride or use cynicism as a hook. I'd rather just think, That fucker has got it down.
I don't know if that answers your question about getting over yourself, but it answered mine, to a point. Why bother with oneupmanship or being the narky commenter with the quick wit if it doesn't make you feel good. I like this guy, I like his attitude.
Hold my hand, Tickleman.
*squeezes tight*
xx
thanks sherrif
k
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